A nine-day virtual gathering dedicated to the act and craft of writing, featuring craft talks and panel discussions on topics such as breaking into publishing, refreshing your writing practice, and finding the community that will sustain your writing life.
I call our son. Mom, he says, after he has tapped the symptoms into Google, have you ever heard of transient global amnesia?
Christina Bartson on improvisation, shutting out fear, and trusting her movement during the pandemic.
Like so much in life, your voice works effortlessly—until, one day, it doesn’t.
Imagination could only take me so far. I was ready to dance—and this time my mom couldn’t say no.
There is something about sex that feels like an unequivocal “fuck you” to death, taking something back from that which has taken something from you.
The sentiment persists that scars construct character. I wish it were that easy.
That my brother and I were not white like the rest of my family didn’t seem to matter much. And then it did.
I wanted someone to play with, but I wanted to create the rules.
“You’ll feel like a baby,” she said. But I didn’t want to feel like a baby.
“In line, you cannot ignore the intelligence of the flesh.”
What kind of story would you like to write?
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